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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25491832">you put me on and said i was your favorite</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/londer/pseuds/londer'>londer</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>elmville elementary [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dimension 20, Fantasy High</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F, Fluff, Get Together, Longing, Misunderstandings, baking soda volcanos</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 03:16:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,773</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25491832</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/londer/pseuds/londer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"Yeah, terrible," Kristen says, but elementary school art is going to get destroyed no matter how hard they try. It's really about the experience of doing something creative. "Anyways, they're sending a chem teacher down from Mumple to "assist" me, whatever that's supposed to mean! I have to do all the hard work with papier-mâché and making sure the kids don't eat the papier-mâché and painting the volcano and making sure the kids don't eat the paint, and then Mister Chemistry just gets to swoop in and dump a half cup of vinegar and baking soda together?" </p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kristen Applebees/Tracker O'Shaughnessey</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>elmville elementary [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1835827</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>89</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=allsevenmaidens">allsevenmaidens</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hmm lotsa projecting in this one!<br/>for allsevenmaidens who always sends me the sweetest play-by-play reactions to these fics<br/>title from the new taylor swift album; cardigan is a good song for this fic</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"They're sending someone from the high school to help," Kristen says huffily. "I know I'm <em> new </em> and it's our first year teaching but come on! I can make a baking soda volcano!" It's the culmination of a larger project uniting the arts and the sciences. She spent a whole week working with the different grades to put together curricula on tectonic plate shifts and chemical reactions for this!</p><p> </p><p>Adaine gives her a very flat look. "I'm not letting you near mild explosives in my classroom, Kristen." </p><p> </p><p>"Baking soda and vinegar are not <em> explosives </em> ! And we're doing it on tarps in the gym, Adaine, we're not <em> monsters</em>. God, this is such <em> crap</em>." Kristen says. She steals one of Adaine's carrot sticks to make a point. Adaine swats at her hand, but is still busily grading math assignments and completely misses. </p><p> </p><p>"Don't you have an art lesson to set up for this afternoon? The kids will be back from recess any minute now."</p><p> </p><p>"It's already done," Kristen says, because she's damn good at her job and prepped everything ahead of time. "We're making wind socks. Super chill." </p><p> </p><p>"God, those are going to get so smushed in backpacks," Adaine says sadly, pausing in her grading. </p><p> </p><p>"Yeah, terrible," Kristen says, but elementary school art is going to get destroyed no matter how hard they try. It's really about the experience of doing something creative. "Anyways, they're sending a <em> chem </em> teacher down from Mumple to "assist" me, whatever <em> that's </em>supposed to mean! I have to do all the hard work with papier-mâché, and making sure the kids don't eat the papier-mâché, and getting them to paint the volcano, and making sure the kids don't eat the paint, and then Mister Chemistry just gets to swoop in and dump a half cup of vinegar and baking soda together and take all the credit?" </p><p> </p><p>"They really do try to eat everything we give them, huh?" Adaine says wistfully, which is <em> so </em> not Kristen's point. "Kris, I'm sure it'll be fine." The classroom door bursts open behind Adaine and she spins and claps her hands. She's so good at putting on her teacher face. "Welcome back from lunch, everyone! Let's get seated for Ms. Applebees' art class!" </p><p>--</p><p>Kristen gets an email from Tracker O'Shaughnessey, the previously unnamed chemistry teacher, and she hates him immediately. He's incredibly polite and sounds excited to get to blow up small volcanoes with children, which makes her hate him even more. </p><p> </p><p>She's a new teacher, though, and in no position to stand up against the administration's requests. Kristen sends back an equally polite response confirming the schedule and vows to spill vinegar all over his shoes. </p><p>--</p><p>She's waiting in the parking lot for O'Shaughnessey to get there, bouncing in annoyance on the balls of her feet. It's a freezing cold morning and he is <em> late </em> for their 7:30 meet-up to get everything set up in the gym for the kids. </p><p> </p><p>"Hey," comes a voice from her left and she looks over and her whole brain does a record-scratch-freeze-frame. This woman is walking right towards Kristen, and she's super buff with clearly defined biceps beneath her short-sleeved button down. She's got light brown skin and short hair that's swept back in a cute wind-ruffled way and pretty dark eyes and just the faintest unibrow. Kristen doesn't know who's mom this is, but <em> wow</em>. </p><p> </p><p>"Kristen Applebees, yeah?" the woman says and Kristen nods, tilts her head to try and be charming in her confusion. The woman smiles, offers a hand to shake and only then Kristen notices the box full of baking soda and vinegar and test tubes cradled in her other arm. "I'm Tracker O'Shaughnessey, from the high school. I'm so sorry I'm late. It's great to finally meet you in person." </p><p> </p><p><em> Fuck</em>. </p><p>--</p><p>Volcano day goes off without a hitch, even if Kristen is too shell-shocked to really say anything for the morning. Tracker - she insisted Kristen call her that - seems happy to take the lead. She oohs and ahhs over the volcanoes they spent all week building (as she should, they're two feet by two feet square and frankly marvels of engineering). Tracker gets the little kids really amped up for the big explosion and gives a really good presentation to the 4-6th grade classes about the chemistry behind the explosion. </p><p> </p><p>Kindergarten comes through to do their demo just before lunch, and afterwards Adaine grabs Kristen and pulls her into the staff bathroom while her kids head off to the cafeteria. </p><p> </p><p>"Kristen -" Adaine starts. Kristen just buries her face in her hands. </p><p> </p><p>"Shut up! I know!" </p><p> </p><p>"<em> Kristen</em>!" Adaine says, a little more emphatically, and Kristen peeks out from between her fingers to glare at her. "I thought you said -"</p><p> </p><p>"I <em> knowww</em>," Kristen whines. </p><p> </p><p>Adaine looks incredulous and is also laughing at her and Kristen is miserable, this is a nightmare, her nemesis is hot and good at her job and really funny and polite. "What do I <em> do</em>?" </p><p> </p><p>"Ask her out!" Adaine says immediately. Easy for her to say! Adaine doesn't date anybody and has never asked anyone out. She's always been on the receiving end where it's easy and she can just reject people.</p><p> </p><p>Kristen makes a shrill noise in the back of her throat of annoyance and <em> thunks </em> her head onto Adaine's shoulder. "No way." </p><p> </p><p>"Fine, then," Adaine says, patting the top of Kristen's head. "Don't date her. Don't ever feel her beautiful ripped arms holding you. Or those powerful thighs - I don't know <em> how </em> she got into those slacks, jeez. Or hear her talk passionately about <em> acid-alkali reactions </em> again - ow, Kristen, rude." Kristen pinched her side as Adaine went on and Adaine scoots away out of reach. She cups the sides of Kristen's face in her hands. Her eyes are very serious but also sympathetic. "Don't be a weenie, Kris. Go talk to her."</p><p>--</p><p>Kristen doesn't really talk to Tracker, because she is in fact a weenie. She does help Tracker pack up her supplies back into her car at the end of the day and she can feel Adaine's eyes boring holes into the back of her head from where she's on bus duty. </p><p> </p><p>She goes home to the apartment she shares with Fabian and they eat cold leftover pizza together while they pay their bills for the month. It's Friday night, there's no reason for her to do any work, so she doesn't. She puts on her best sweatpants and lies on her bed watching <em> Avatar: The Last Airbender</em>. </p><p> </p><p>Her phone vibrates a little but she pays it no mind. Probably just Adaine sending a bunch of the eyes emojis about her inaction today. She doesn't check the message until later, while she's brushing her teeth before bed, and spits toothpaste all over her phone screen when she sees the texts. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> [203-555-5069] </em>
</p><p><em> Hi, this is Tracker, from today?                                                                                                                                                                                        </em> <em> 6:13 pm </em></p><p><em>Adaine gave me your number, sorry if this is weird</em>                                                                                                                                                        <em>6:13 pm</em></p><p><em>Would you like to go get a drink tonight? A bunch of the hs staff goes out on fri to the blck pit at like 730, if you want to come with</em>                            <em>6:17 pm</em></p><p><em>If not no worries lol</em>                                                                                                                                                                                                        <em>6:40 pm</em></p><p> </p><p>Kristen screeches loud enough that Fabian pokes his head into the bathroom to be sure she hasn't got her hair stuck in a curling iron (again). She's literally so stupid, it's almost nine and she must seem like such a <em> jackass </em> for not responding. </p><p> </p><p>"Kristen, what the fuck?" Fabian asks mildly as she frantically wipes spit off the screen of her phone so she can reply. "Is everything alright?" </p><p> </p><p>"No," Kristen says, and she can see the manic look on her face out of the corner of her eye in the mirror. Fabian makes a face at that and she backtracks. "Like, I'm fine, but also, I'm very not fine." She shoves the phone in his face and his eyes flit across the texts and the timestamps before looking back at her with one very judgemental eyebrow raised. </p><p> </p><p>"You need to text her back," Fabian says, and <em> duh </em> Fabian, that's the plan. </p><p> </p><p>"What do I <em> say </em>?" Kristen asks him, thumbs frozen over the keyboard. </p><p> </p><p>He grimaces. "How willing are you to get dressed and go out again?" Kristen hesitates, tilts her head into a bit of a nod yes. His jaw drops. "Oh, my god, you <em> like </em> her! If this was one of us asking, you would have already said no way in hell are you putting real pants back on!" </p><p> </p><p>"Fabian," Kristen grabs his face by the chin, still holding her phone like a lifeline in her other hand. "I love you, but if you don't tell me how to fix this right now, I'm going to lose my shit." </p><p> </p><p>He snorts and takes her phone from her and she watches as he taps out a reply. He holds it up for her approval and she nods and buries her face in embarrassment into the side of his arm as he hits send. </p><p> </p><p><em> Hey! Wasn't checking my phone all night, sorry - If you're still at the bar I'd love to come by?                                                                                        8 </em> <em> :43 pm </em></p><p> </p><p>"Thank you," Kristen says and takes her phone back from him. She's breathing hard and her heart is racing. </p><p> </p><p>"Better go get ready for your date!" Fabian shoos her back into her room. </p><p> </p><p>"What if she's not still there?" Kristen stops digging through her closet for a presentable blouse to freeze up.</p><p> </p><p>Fabian rolls his eyes and leans against the doorframe into Kristen's room. "Kristen. With texts like those, I guarantee if she's not still there, she's on her way back now." </p><p>--</p><p>"Kristen!" Tracker says loudly over the quiet hubbub of the bar and Kristen beelines across the place towards where Tracker is sitting at the bar on the edge of a little group. She's wearing the same button-down as earlier today, but it's unbuttoned a little more and untucked over a pair of jeans. She's so hot when she grins as Kristen approaches and she uses her foot to pull out the bar stool next to her for Kristen to slide onto. "I'm so glad you could make it." </p><p> </p><p>"Yeah," Kristen says, because she is truly such an idiot and doesn't know how to hold a conversation. "Thanks for inviting me." </p><p> </p><p>"Anytime," Tracker says and she's so sincere. "Here, let me get you a drink." </p><p> </p><p>It's nice. It feels very much like a date but Kristen doesn't want to put too much hope into it because they technically are out with a bunch of other people. She meets a bunch of Tracker's coworkers and only maybe remembers some of their names. They all seems nice, though! Mostly the two of them sit with their knees touching while they talk in a little bubble of a conversation at the bar. Tracker's a really good listener as Kristen rambles on about art access and different mediums. </p><p> </p><p>They leave when the bar starts to get a little too packed with college kids from Solace State there for the Friday night rave in the back room. Kristen tries not to light up too much when Tracker wraps an arm around her waist to pull her out of the way of some college boys who barrel past them into the Black Pit. </p><p> </p><p>"Did you drive here?" Tracker asks when they're in the parking lot. She's fiddling with her keys and her arm is still a little bit around Kristen's back. </p><p> </p><p>"No," Kristen says, because she got Fabian to drop her off. She was probably going to call him to get a ride home. "You wanna give me a ride?" The innuendo is...heavy, to say the least, but she's a a few drinks in and can feel embarrassed about it tomorrow. Tracker wasn't drinking the whole time Kristen was at the bar, she should be good to drive. </p><p> </p><p>Tracker snorts and she's blushing a little maybe, it's hard to tell in the parking lot lighting. "Yeah, okay. Let's get you home." Tracker has a pickup truck, because of <em> course </em> she does, and Kristen eats shit a little bit while swinging herself up into the passenger seat. The inside is warm and has that nice neutral car smell that's clean and a little woody. She gives Tracker directions and settles back into her seat, watches the profile of her face in the passing lights and the flex of her forearms on the wheel. The radio's playing softly, just a mindless little hum under their quiet conversation.</p><p> </p><p>Tracker pulls up in front of Kristen's place, throws the car in park. Kristen doesn't move to get out, still trying to savor the last vestiges of a good night and figure out how to get it to happen again. She unbuckles her seatbelt slowly, lets the fabric slide over her palm as it recedes back into the thingy with a little <em> zwip </em> noise. It's dim in the car, just illimunated by the console and one street lamp outside and they're both just. <em>Looking</em> at each other. Looking with a lot of intention but not a lot of motivation until Tracker, in one swift motion, undoes her own seatbelt and closes the distance over the console to catch Kristen in a quick kiss. She pulls back a few inches right away, but Kristen chases right after her for another one. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. tracker</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i have too many acoc feelings to work on the fic i started for it so instead here's another 1k of tracker being gay and freaking out</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tracker smacks her head against Ragh's chest in despair and lets out a little scream into the muscle of his pec. Ragh gives her a hug, but she can feel his chest shaking with laughter. She is literally the dumbest person alive for managing to get a crush on the nicest elementary school art teacher of all time who's clearly not interested.</p><p>"Maybe she's not checking her texts," Ragh says, running his hand up and down her back soothingly. "You can't have messed up so badly that she's just ignoring you." </p><p>"I mean, she's definitely gay," Danielle says, and Tracker turns her head away from Ragh's chest to look at her. She's scrolling through her phone, thumbs flitting over the keypad. "I found her Facebook and Instagram, lots of pride flags and a possible ex-girlfriend sighting." </p><p>"Who's definitely gay?" Aelwyn slides onto the barstool next to Danielle and looks over her shoulder. "Wait, is that Applebees?" </p><p>"You know her?" Danielle asks, making grabby hands at Aelwyn's phone, who obediently unlocks it and hands it over. "Do you follow her socials? Her Twitter is private and we need to do more recon on Tracker's future wife." </p><p>"Shut <em> up </em>," Tracker says, and retreats back into Ragh's chest. </p><p>"Aww," Aelwyn says in that mean mocking voice she does sometimes. Tracker vows to steal her usual good parking space near the tennis courts for the next week. "Yeah, I follow her, she's friends with Adaine. Was today the big volcano day?" She can feel Ragh nod above her. "Aw. Cute. She is <em> definitely </em> gay, believe me." Tracker makes a sad squeaky noise into Ragh's chest and she can hear Aelwyn laughing, the asshole. "Tracker Applebees. Or Tracker O'Shaughnessey-Applebees?"</p><p>"Applebees-O'Shaughnessey sounds better," Danielle says. "Tracker, she seems really funny and also I think some of these tweets are about you except she thinks you're a man who's coming in to invade her cool science-art collab curriculum piece." </p><p>"She what?" Tracker re-emerges from Ragh's hug to take Aelwyn's phone from Danielle. There's a string of rant tweets on Kristen's account about how the town doesn't take her seriously as an instructor and is letting some '<em>dudebro chemboy come take all the credit</em>'. "Well. Shit." </p><p>"You should really put your pronouns in your email signature," Ragh says, looking over her shoulder. </p><p>"I guess so," Tracker says, and hands the phone back to Danielle. There's something sad in her chest, like her heart has gone limp. Kristen's account icon is a picture of her wearing an ugly Christmas sweater and smiling at the camera with her hair curled around her face. She's so pretty and good with kids and creative and Tracker is just the person who swooped in and inconvenienced her big plans to make cool volcanoes to talk about chemistry. </p><p>"Wait so what's the issue?" Aelwyn asks, swirling the drink the bartender just brought her. </p><p>"Tracker got Kristen's number from Adaine and invited her out with us tonight but it's been like an hour and she hasn't responded," Danielle says, giving Aelwyn a very obvious Look as if Tracker isn't sitting right there watching her. </p><p>"Mmm. And this is going to ruin your ability to have fun tonight?" Aelwyn snorts at the look that Tracker gives her. "Got it. Well, next round's on me then, I suppose." </p><hr/><p>Tracker is fully about to leave, tab closed out and sobered up, when Kristen texts her back. It's like the bar is full of color again except now it's all a little too saturated because of her nerves. Aelwyn drags her off into the bathroom to tousle her hair, fix her shirt (untucked and unbuttoned, just a little flirty without being too suggestive), and quickly swish some mouthwash.</p><p>"Stop freaking out," Aelwyn says as they're walking back to the corner of the bar their group of friends have claimed. "Kristen's chill, she's gay, you're gay, go get your scissor on." </p><p>"Nobody scissors in real life, Aelwyn," Tracker protests, but it's weak because she really is trying to do some breathing exercises to steady her nerves. </p><p>She spots Kristen the second she walks into the bar and it's so gross but it really is like a movie where time slows down. Kristen's red hair is tied back in the same little half-up-half-down she had earlier today and she's wearing jeans that hug the thick curves of her thighs and lower belly and a green off-the-shoulder top. Tracker has to carefully keep herself from fixating too hard on how hot she looks because it's not the time and instead smiles as best she can and uses her foot to drag out a stool for her to sit at. "Kristen!" Her voice cracks just a little but she powers through. "I'm so glad you could make it." </p><p>"Yeah, thanks for inviting me," Kristen says and Tracker's really working hard to not lean too far into her space as she sits next to her. She smells fruity, like peaches maybe, and she must have taken off her makeup because it turns out she has a lot of freckles all over her face that Tracker hadn't noticed all day. </p><p>"Anytime," Tracker says, and she really truly means it, she would get up at three am to hang out with Kristen, which should maybe feel pathetic but instead feels electric. "Let me get you a drink." </p><hr/><p>She drives Kristen home and keeps both hands white-knuckled on the wheel at a perfect ten-and-two. Kristen's watching her; Tracker can feel her gaze on her profile but she carefully keeps her gaze fixed on the road ahead of her until she pulls up in front of a white two-family house. Kristen takes her sweet time with her seatbelt and it runs over the palm of her hand slowly as they stare into each other's eyes. Her eyes are brown, beautiful brown pools that glow in the reflection of the streetlamp. Tracker teaches high school chemistry and she hates writing but she thinks she could write a dozen poems about Kristen's eyes, about this feeling. </p><p>Her face feels warm and her fingers twitch with wanting to touch her and it's like a tidal wave in her chest that breaks through her lungs as she ducks forward to press a quick clumsy kiss to Kristen's mouth. She pulls back right away because fuck, she should have asked first, this is too fast, but Kristen presses back against her for a second kiss, and a third, over the console, her hands fisting into the open collar of Tracker's button-down. She tastes like the margarita she was drinking before this, and Tracker gently bites at the full lower lip she's been staring at and obsessing over all day.</p><p>"Do you-do you want to come inside?" Kristen asks and her voice is shallow as she catches her breath. Oh, does Tracker want, but Kristen's been drinking and that's skeevy and they haven't even been on a proper date and Tracker wants to do this <em> right </em>. </p><p>"I can't tonight," she says, emphasizes the <em> tonight </em> because if this was another night where Kristen was fully sober and asking the answer would be a resounding <em> fuck yes please </em>. "Would you like to go out for lunch tomorrow?" </p><p>"Yeah," Kristen says, and kisses Tracker again. "Text me. I promise I'll check my phone."</p><hr/><p>They go to lunch. They go to lunch and then they go to the nearby art museum and Kristen tells her all about impressionism and points out mistakes in a few of the plaques. They get dinner to go from a local sandwich shop that Tracker's never been to but Kristen swears by and swap halves to eat on a bench by the river. Kristen feeds her crusts to the ducks and then they have to run because one of the geese sees them and starts to harass them for scraps. It's a seven hour long date, which is kind of why Tracker asked her out to lunch instead of dinner, because she's been gay long enough to know how these things go when there's something good there. Holding hands progresses to Tracker's arm wrapped around Kristen's waist progresses to one hand tucked into Kristen's back pocket and pressing a kiss to her temple while they watch the sun start to sink below the water as the sky turns cotton-candy colored. </p><p>One date becomes two becomes three becomes ten becomes three months of dating. Kristen has a drawer at Tracker's apartment and a toothbrush in her bathroom and Fabian is mad because she's probably not going to stay on their lease when it expires next month so he has to find a new roommate. They're moving a little fast, but Kristen is the best person Tracker has ever met and it starts to be that she can't see a future without Kristen in it. Every time she pictures the next year, the next five years, hell, even the next five minutes they're all full of Kristen working on art curriculums, designing projects, helping Tracker put grades into her spreadsheet, cooking dinner together, weaving in an out of each other's space easily and comfortably.</p><p>Applebees-O'Shaunessey would be a real mouthful of a last name but they can always shorten it to Mrs. and Mrs. A-O to keep the kids from complaining. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>you can find me on tumblr <a href="https://myclericalromance.tumblr.com">here</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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